


World Underground

by TheNobodyofaSOLDIER



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: All the teasing, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Dates, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fatherhood, Flowers, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Motherhood, Police Character, Rough Kissing, Surprise pregnancy, Teasing, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30068601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER/pseuds/TheNobodyofaSOLDIER
Summary: One shots for "Durarara!"
Relationships: Heiwajima Shizuo/Reader, Orihara Izaya/Reader
Kudos: 7





	1. Flower Stems

[Shizuo x Reader]

This was it. He was going to do it. He was finally going to tell you.

Despite the bustling streets of Ikebukuro, filled with the casual conversations of passerby, shouting of playing children, and vehicle engines of all shapes and sizes, Shizuo Heiwajima was positive those standing in proximity with him could still hear his pounding heart and his thoracic cavity nearly breaking at its beatings. Through the thick crowd, the mass of color, shapes and patterns, through the hazy atmosphere, he spotted you. His clammy palms encircled the steams of the bouquet he concealed behind his back tightly.

As usual, you dressed in your sophisticated suit and jacket, hair swooped back, clean and out of your face, ready to tackle another day. This was how he always saw you. You never seemed to wear anything else, but he had grown so accustomed to it, it would seem wrong to meet you in anything else. Despite showing little to no expression, the soft lines of your face, the delicate contours composing your exquisite framework, were settled into a frown, your brows furrowing into an expression of deep concern and rumination. What was it that ailed you so? The general tasks of the day? Perhaps a situation back at your home? Or perhaps you were just wrapped up in a web of thoughts you couldn’t escape from? Whatever face you made, you never ceased to captivate him.

The crowd dispersed as the traffic light signaled their turn to cross. Shizuo however remained fixed in his spot. You came towards him, eyes fixated in your general direction. With each step you took in his direction, his heart raced faster. Damn, how it didn’t burst through was completely beyond his comprehension. How could he feel so strongly for someone he shared only a few precious moments with him?

Ah, he recalled those days with such clarity, he could still inhale the cigarette smoke at the bar. He could feel the body heat of the crowd surrounding his station and taste the mist permeating off the drinks he served. You visited twice every week, once on Wednesday to ease away the midweek blues and once on Friday to celebrate another job well done. You ordered the same drink, wore the same clothes, always smoked at least two cigarettes, and you never failed to converse with the bartender: him. Never did you discuss matters that were too grave or personal, but he always enjoyed your ease around him, your cool demeanor as you lightly whirled your glass in on hand and perfectly balanced your cigarette in between your index and middle finger. The definition of class were you, something right out of the movies, and he never missed an opportunity to talk with you.

You were present when he lost his cool the day he got fired. Yes, you witnessed his unfathomable strength, his ever raging temper as he threw every object at the idiots that dared cross him. Even in the midst of the flames, when he caught you gawking at him out of his peripheral vision, regret choked him. But, just when he was sure he fucked everything up, you were the one that ventured outside to check on him. Somehow, even after all that madness, you still returned to him with a gentle smile on your face, holding a small rag out to him.

And that was when he fell for you...or at least developed an unshakably strong crush on you. He couldn’t tell which.

Shizuo’s throat went dry as he attempted to swallow his nerves. He wanted to turn and run right then and there. Why was trying to confess one’s interest in another so much harder than beating the living shit out of a huge mob of people? One minute he was an unstoppable, adrenaline fueled, machine of destruction. Now, he was a quivering school kid waiting for his first crush to arrive to class. How was that possible?

“Hello, Shizuo.”

Sure enough, you stopped in your tracks. You stared directly at him. Of course, you wouldn’t forget him. After that incident at the bar, you couldn’t. That gentle, lovely smile gracefully curved your lips. You eyes oozed with calm and sophistication. Even in broad daylight away from the dim lights of the bar, you were just as charming as he remembered. His grasp on the bouquet suffocated the poor flowers.

“H-hey,” he replied.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” you said, nonchalantly placing a hand on your hip. “How are you these days?”

One little movement was enough to make him go insane. He almost didn’t know it was possible to feel such strong emotions outside of explosive rage. It was almost border line panic! Tremors coursed through his entire being. Sweat escaped through the pores of his head and palms. Goosebumps trailed along his arms.

Shizuo cleared his throat. “I’m fine. I-uh,” he glanced at the floor. “I had a reason for coming out to see you.”

You tilted your head. “Oh, is that so? So, you’ve been thinking about me?” you flashed him a wink.

His heart skipped in the midst of its wild racing. He ruffled his golden hair. “Yes, well, I figured since we had such a good time at the bar, we could have dinner or something?” Oh, if only you could have seen the madness within him. You were going to say no. Why would you go out with this modern say Jekyll and Hyde?

Eyes widening a little, you froze as the question processed through your neural pathways. These were the longest few seconds of Shizuo’s life. His own mind completely shut down, and everything inside him ran cold with fear. But, you saw nothing behind his darkened frames.

“Oh, I was wondering when the hell you would ask me,” you giggled, sauntering closer to him.  
What?

He stared silently at you as if permanently glued to the ground. You simply chuckled. Seeing such a tough guy act this gooney over a crush was a little more than endearing.

“So, what’s that behind your back?” you asked with a smirk.

“H-huh?” he blinked a few times. Then, he was immediately thrusted back into reality. Oh, right, he was talking to you. “Ah, fuck, right. They’re just some flowers.”

Or what was left of them.

Much to his horror, the beautiful blossoms had been crushes, and the elegant stems had either been snapped in half or mushed into the others.

Well, he just completely wasted that money....

Just when he built up energy to turn and run, you took the demolished bouquet and held it to your chest.

“Thank you so much,” you said with sparkling eyes. A deep blush colored your cheeks, and your smile turned into a wide grin. All of a sudden, that cool demeanor melted away, and a sweet, innocent school girl accepting her love’s affections stood before him. “I love them, and I would love to go out with you.”

Who knew? After all that worrying, you were in the same boat as he was. Slowly, the tension melted away, and a small smile rested on his lips.

And all it took was a few broken flower stems.

“Alright then, name the time and place.”


	2. Obsessed

[Izaya x Police!Reader]

_Night shifts._

Oh, how you _hated_ them.

It wasn’t that the police department didn’t pay you well. In fact, they were known to make up for such atrocious inconvenience. 

But, even still, no amount of cash could subside your horrendous mood. The streets of Ikebukuro gathered as many people as physically possible granting them as little room as possible to even move. The stench of body odor and cheap perfume festered and violated every sense you had. Street lights and colorful signs blinked and flashed, blinding anyone who stared at them long enough.

Or pushed them to the fucking brink of insanity. You forget which. 

Then, of course, there was the noise. 

_All the fucking noise._

People whispering and giggling amongst themselves, kids shouting at literally nothing and everything, cellphones beeping and ringing, cars honking left and right, the soles of everyone’s shoes scraping and clicking against the heated concrete, Simon, the Russian sushi salesman shouting over the hodgepodge below his giant frame. 

You were surprised your skull didn’t explode right then and there. That would’ve silenced everyone, you were sure.

Then again, with all the previous gang fights, robberies and murders that occurred within the shadows of this dark city, the citizens might not even give a damn. 

As you strolled along the cramped sidewalks, your shoulder brushing against a few bystanders, you caught a few curious glances and nervous stares, knowing you at least had some authority in this god-forsaken place. 

It was either that or fear, as the policemen had been known to abuse their power. 

Either way, it was kind of refreshing. 

That was, until an unusually putrid smell caught your attention, after turning one more corner. 

Was the stench of rotten food?

No.

Was it the smell of those forgetting to shower for days on end wafting into the air?

Surprisingly, no.

Was it the reeking of a corpse thrown carelessly in the moldy alleyways?

As you have encountered such a situation before, that shockingly was not the case either.

But, it all arose with a thin, cocky, little laugh, looming close behind you.

Rage exploding within you like a supernova, you pivoted about, grabbing a handful of leather in your fists. With no consideration of the condition of his spine, you slammed his back against the moist brick walls. Despite the grunt of pain at the harsh contact, a low chuckle still emanated in his throat.

“My, my, so harsh!” Izaya said with a smirk, as you etched closer to his face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, you little parasite?” you hissed, while gritting your teeth. 

“Hush now,” he half whispered, brushing his index over your lips. “Any more of that, and you’re bound to catch someone’s attention.” 

Your mouth ran dry as you scanned the opening of the alleyway. As he predicated, a few bystanders cast their gaze over to your direction with hints of nervousness. He was right. This was no place to be conversing with this scum of the earth.

Then, again, why were you even wasting time on him?

Once you dragged him down a concealed corner of the alley, you pinned him back into the wall. He could have been smashed there, and you would have been okay with it. 

But, he just stood there with your fists curled in his collar in a deathlike grip, completely undaunted. 

He was taunting you with that small painted on smirk.

With a sharp exhale, you loosened your grip.

“What do you want, Izaya?” you murmured, making sure your stare resembled that of a needle’s. 

“Now, now,” he replied in a sing-songy voice. “That’s not how you talk to me, is it?”

“Don’t start with me, asshole,” you glowered. “Every time I run into, Izaya, there’s trouble. It’s either going down or about happen.” You leaned in a little closer. “So, what’s going on?”

He laughed heartily, full of arrogance and amusement. “Oh, but, my dear! Why would you ever assume such a horrible thing,” he lightly rested his palm against your cheek, grazing the sensitive skin beneath your eye with the tip of his thumb.

Jolts of electricity shot down your spine from his cold fingertips. He slowly trailed them down the elegant line of your neck.

“Izaya,” your voice dropped down. “Not here..not now.” 

He leaned until the rims of his lips brushed along the base of your neck. Nimble, crafty fingers slipped into the loops of your shirt, revealing the heated skin beneath, waiting to be kissed. 

“You’re a sick fuck, you know?” you mentally slapped yourself repeatedly. You couldn’t ignore the burning within you. 

“Oh, come on,” he chuckled, fanning delicate kisses down the line of your neck. “You didn’t talk like this last week...in a _similar_ predicament? You were much more agreeable then.” 

“Don’t even bring that up,” you grumbled, but the testy tone in your voice combated with the desire building within you.

You knew better than this. If any of your coworkers discovered the secret and sinful deeds occurring behind the scenes between you two, you were sure to be fired.

But, you came back each time.

He lurked in the back of your mind, day in, day out. 

You were hooked.

You were addicted.

You were _obsessed._

And you didn’t want to let go.

Firmly gripping your forearms, the shrewd man pivoted you about, turning the tables on you and pinning you to the wall. His lips met yours in a fiery kiss, leaving them swollen and red. Your fingers clumsily unzipped and slid off his jacket, anxious to feel his frigid skin against yours. 

Whether or not he meant, whether or not his words were real or conniving, he still kept coming back to you.

In some form or another, you could assume he was obsessed too.

With a low laugh, sending bites down your chest, earning quiet whimpers from you, you perceived him murmuring against your skin,

“That’s my girl.”

“Ugh, just shut up, and kiss me, you asshole.”


	3. Cigarettes and Coffee

[Shizuo x Reader]

Ah, Ikebukuro, a city that never sleeps.

It ebbed and flowed with the river of time, ever changing. Fresh new faces always entered the arena: some stayed while others departed. You always kept your eyes on it, a humble bystander never involving yourself in chaos, but simply a fascinated observer.

You burrowed the butt of your cigarette into the ash tray and watched the thin, grey strand of smoke disappear into the clouded atmosphere of the bar. You listened to the low, jazzy music emitting around the room, the soft chatters of customers, the occasional blaring of TV sets, the clinking of glasses. The odd stench of alcohol and smoke melded together into an unpleasant invader of your nose. You weren’t particularly fond of bars, though you couldn’t deny your occasionally trip to one after a long Monday after work. But, they weren’t your initial go to. However, this particular one was different. Here, you saw him, the one bartender that you associated with, the one man that ever caught your attention: Shizuo Heiwajima.

He passed by you multiple times. His dark eyes peered over at you above his shaded glasses. You always chuckled at that, wearing sunglasses both at night and indoors. But, he looked sexy enough to get away with it; who were you to question?

You never said much in your encounters. Often times, he asked for your choice of drink, served it, thanked you for your tip, and moved on with his tasks. Yet, even as he continued on with his work, his eyes never strayed from yours, and yours never from him. Despite the rumors of his brash nature, horrible temper and godlike strength, you felt no fear or resentment towards him. He handled every glass with such care. He made sure each and every dish were spotless before carefully placing them back on their assigned shelves. Of course, with his messy, golden locks and chiseled features, he wasn’t hard on the eyes either. You liked being around him.

But, what you didn’t know was that he too enjoyed your company, as little as you conversed.

Something about you soothed the little flame ever burning within him. Perhaps it was your soft voice. Perhaps it was your often half lidded eyes, tired from a day’s work but still lovely all the same. Perhaps it was your cool demeanor, your shoulders slightly slumped as you leaned against the bar, your legs crossed, the cigarette hanging loosely between your fingers. Whatever the reason, you were his favorite of his customers, a breath of fresh air in the midst of toxins caused by the idiots that always came.

Time passed on, and your time together only extended. He would walk you to your car, occasionally holding conversations with you. That then turned into you driving him home just to lengthen your time with each other. Though it took a lot of courage on his part, he asked you out for an entire evening together, just a fine night of cigarettes and coffee Then it became dinner, as soon as he was released from work, another night accompanied with cigarettes and coffee.

Finally, it became kisses in the back alleyways, all kept secret and hidden away from the outside world. Sultry and steamy, you could still taste hints of cigarettes and coffee glazed along his tongue. You soon grew far more addicted to his touches and kisses rather than those burning sticks of nicotine. You would linger here under the flickering, buzzing streetlamp, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, drowning yourselves in each other, feeding each other’s dependency on one another.

Yet, even as these pent up desires built and towered within you, physical pleasures never ventured beyond heated kisses and delicate caresses. He never wanted to. He wanted to keep it drawn out, to keep every moment special and savor them, a little at a time. These days with you were what kept him going, kept him at ease. Why extinguish this unexplored territory so quickly?

And so, you would return to those quiet evening with cigarettes and coffee after work. You took two steps back, recalling the days that brought you together in the first place. It just made your journal all the more thrilling while keeping close to those mundane, little thing that served as the foundation of your relationship, quiet talks, flecks of white swirling at the tops of the black liquid, fingers tapping the end of the cigarettes, and watching the thin strands of smoke disappear into the air.

Who knew what step you would take next, whether forward or back again? But, in the end, with him at your side, what did it matter?


	4. Lock and Key

[Izaya x Police!Reader]

“501, 502, 503, 504, 505-”

Your nerves were at the brink of exploding. Then again, prison wasn’t exactly a place to calm ones nerves. The stench of manly body odor wafted down the halls. The fluorescent lights drained all life and color from the facility. Obscenities were shouted at you as you casually strolled down the hallways into your dinky, little office.

But, nothing could top watching Izaya Orihara in solitary confinement.

_Absolutely nothing._

You always knew he was up to no good. Every little thing he did was part of a bigger picture, a scheme that always unfolded one step ahead of the police. So, turning himself over to your custody was nothing short of suspicious.

Something bad was going on.

You just had yet to figure out what.

But, even with nowhere go or hide, Izaya was less than pleasurable to keep an eye on. He sassed you left and right, and he utterly refused to shut up when you desperately wanted to return to your book or eat.

Then, there was the counting.

_THAT DAMN COUNTING._

He never stopped until you looked to talk to him. Even for a second, he would pick up where he left off with that cocky grin on his stupid face. You never knew anyone in history of this entire fucking planet that was as entertained with counting as this stupid asshole was. What the fuck was he even counting anyway? 

You shockingly possessed enough strength to steal your nerves for just a little bit longer. 

But, alas, all good things must come to an end.

“645...646...647-”

“IZAYA,” you snapped as you slammed your book shut.

Almost immediately, he turned to you with a sheepish grin plastered to his face. 

“May I ask what in the name of high heaven are you counting?” your fingernails rapped the cover of your book. 

“Oh, me?” he tilted his head swinging his legs back and forth as they dangled from the top bunk. “I was simply counting the seconds ticking by.”

You hated that sing-songy voice. It made him sound so cocky...more cocky than normal, if that was even possible.

“Can’t you do something else more productive with your time?” you grumbled, flipping a few pages in your book.

He took a moment to pause and then laugh. 

“Oh,” he said, voice dropping.

When you raised your eyes, you saw him slink over to the bars, smirking darkly.

“I can think of a few _things._ ”

You narrowed your eyes at him: fucking rascal he was. 

“Gimme a break,” you replied curtly. 

And he only replied with a burst of obnoxious laughter. 

Oh, how you hated that laugh. He always knew just how to get under your skin, and it worked every time.

Of course, it’d be more of a challenge for him had it not been for a few foolish mistakes you made in the past.

Mistakes involving him...

It wasn’t that you fell for his tricks exactly. Hell, you saw right through his ploys. He longed to use you as a pawn in his game, one that would bring the slums of Ikebukuro to their knees.

You refused and waded through his schemes with such ease, you were sure it would keep him away from you.

Alas, the hands of fate crossed your paths again. The confrontation was no better. He dripped with shrewdness, and you weaved your way through his web. Despite his plans for you never falling into place, he appreciate the fact that you stepped right over his traps. It made you interesting and entertaining.

But, even you could not ignore the strong carnal desires he surged within you, and he used his own to fuel that unfortunate flame. 

It was mistake you couldn’t quite figure out whether or not you regretted it. 

At the moment, as you kept him under lock and key, you definitely regretted it.

But, that was only because he was using the little weakness you held for him against you.

That thin, overconfident smile still rested on his lips as he tilted his head, hummed to himself, slide his nimble fingers around the iron bars. You ducked your chin in attempt to return to your book, hoping to escape his horrid gaze.

His dark orbs remained, unmoving, unwavering.

“Aw, come on,” he said in an exaggerated whine. “You can’t ignore me _that_ long can you?”

“You bet your ass, I can,” you seethed. 

“Please,” he cocked an eyebrow, slinking an arm through one of the open spaces of the bar. “Come here, little lady.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?” you lowered your head and shielded your eyes with your palm.

“Once!”

“And for me, once is worth a million , so stop.”

“Oooo,” he said with a mock shudder. “You must be the equivalent of a goddess if your words mean that much.”

“Izaya, stop it. I’m trying to read.”

That irritating chuckle of his, thin and arrogant as fuck, filled the room, seeped into your ears, dominated your brain.

Until you half jumped from your seat.

He smirked at your reaction. With a cough, you turned your head away, scratching your head most awkwardly. 

“What a lovely response,” he said, draping his arms around the bar. “I didn’t know I effected you that much. What a pleasure.”

You clicked your tongue. “Whatever. I wasn’t reacting to you in the slightest.”

“Then, what was it?” 

Your eyes darted about. Damn, you sucked at lying. “....A fly.”

“Where?”

“Would you just stop it!”

“Oooo, such an intense reply! Could this mean that-?”

Slamming your hand against the desk, you were sure the sound waves reverberated throughout the entirety of the prison. Your heart pounded your ears, nearly skipping a bit from the exasperation. You swallowed the dry lump in your throat. 

At though he silenced, his ego still permeated throughout the room.

And you knew then and there that he too had you under lock and key. Only you were positive that his might have been stronger than the iron clad bars you kept him behind.

With a huff, you practically stomped over to the cell and shoved the key in its designated place. Quite an awkward metaphor you thought.

“What’s this?” he leaned in as close as the prison would allow, enough for his breath to feather across the shell of your ear. “Are you letting me go?”

The door opened with an ear piercing creak, and before he could utter one more syllable, you took him by the collar and crashed your mouth onto his. His breath caught in surprise, but he eventually caught the message and settled his arms around your hips. 

When you pulled away, his eyes glinted. Your stomach dropped.

Once again, he won.

“Is this against the rules?” he murmured, lips crazing against yours.

“Does it look like I care right now?” you half growled and took his top lip in between your teeth.

He hummed in approval at the delectable sensations. “You sure you won’t get caught?”

“Just shut up and kiss me.”


	5. Refuge

[Izaya x Police!Reader]

You made it.

Somehow, someway, you managed to survive an intense struggle with a group of gang members. You heard a few police officers speak of gang wars breaking out within the cities of Ikebukuro but you only brushed them aside as rumors.

That was until you were on your way home from a simple grocery store trip and came head to head with a group of young hooligans with yellow scarves tied around them.You thought nothing of it at first. Then, the leader of the subgroup pulled a gun on you.

Without another passing second, your adrenaline kicked in.

It all became a blur. You shouted. You punched. You kicked. You clawed. You utilized every defense mechanism available to fight back.

You came out alive, shaken, bruised and scraped, but alive nonetheless. Being a police officer, you encountered your fair share of brawls from bars to the streets. But, that didn’t mean you were used to it. Swallowing a hard lump forming in your, you tightened your coat about your arms.

The streets were busy as usual, allowing you to hide yourself within the crowd. Despite the arrival of the night, the city lights, the street lamps, the headlights of every car in the city lit the way to every passerby. Even you had to admit, except for the nasty corners and alleys, Ikebukuro was a pretty comfortable place to traverse at night. You watched as the traffic like flashed green and pushed your way through. You mind completely shut off. Your limbs felt heavy, stinging from the cold. The slight scrapes burned as mist came into contact with them.

However, you still had quite a few blocks to go.

If your logic wasn’t there beating sense into you, you would have happily collapsed in the street just to sleep there for at least a minute or so.

But, all you longed for was a little sanctuary, a little refuge from the horrors you thence faced.

You trudged along the frigid pavements, the bags in your hands weighing more than led. Your head hung, chin practically tucked. Your hairs shielded your faced from the thin mist now falling.

Then, triggering you to halt in your tracks, echoing over the city, you heard your name.

At first, you believed it only to be a small figment of your imagination. You levels of adrenaline kept you alert, borderline paranoid. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

But, then you heard it again.

Again.

And then, once more.

With a sharp exhale, you turned your gaze to the heavens. Was God calling out to you? You glanced around at the shadowy figures simply passing you by, too lost in their own world to care about you. Licking your chapped lips, you continued your scan until they landed on an apartment complex just across from you.

At the edge of the balcony, you discerned a tall, willowy figure dressed in black, dark hair, placid skin, and a smile possessing so much confidence, it was borderline arrogance.

Izaya Orihara.

Your stomach bubbled with disgust for a moment. He had been the bane of your existence for months now, the thorn in your side, the pebble in your shoe. Even if he disappeared from your life, he worked his way under your skin, knowing full well what buttons to press and what reaction they provoked.

But, not always.

To this day, you still pulled the rug from under his feet, leaving him flat on his back and staring in wonder. Though uncertain as to how you pulled this off yourself, it was still a card you always held in your little war.

“What are you doing out there freezing to death?” he called in his half sing songy voice.

Blowing a hair from your face, you turned your head. “I’m going home,” you curtly replied.

“Aw, come now,” he leaned against the rims of the balcony and tilted his head. “You and I both know that a walk to your house from here would be another 45 minutes or now.”

You coughed. “Yeah, it’s disturbing to think you would know that.”

He chuckled at your response. “Why not come up here for a change, police girl?”

“Fucking hell, Izaya,” you growled. “You know damn well I hate it when you call me that.”

“Alright then, Miss,” his smile just made him reek with an ego larger than the Seven Wonders of the World put together. “Would you care to join me? It’s only going to get colder, and I hear a snow storm make its entrance in about ten minutes.”

You simply scoffed. “I’d rather get a cab.”

“Aw, come on. Please? Pretty please?”

Just before you could press forward, you glanced back at him. His dark eyes grew big, feigning innocence and sweetness. His head, still tilted to once side, and his hands folded together, only added to the disgustingly cute mask he wore.

He was rotten, utter and complete garbage, the king of garbage.

And heaven help you for being completely unable to tell him no.

With a heavy sigh, you shuffled across the street to his home. The cheer that rang from his throat only made you want to hurl everything you ate that day....had you eaten anything. Yet, you persisted forward in his direction, across the street, up the stairs, until you were knocking at his door.

The door moaned as it pulled away from the comfort of the wall, and the eyes of its irritating owner greeted you with a glint.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, making room for you to cross his threshold.

You brushed by him with a grumble. Your eyes scanned the room: large bookshelves filled to the brim with hard and paperbacks, two levels connected by a staircase, large windows overlooking the scenery, an array of sleek, modern furniture and decor.

“Hn. Very clean,” you said, crossing your arms.

He crept up behind you, enough for you to catch a hint of his scent.

“Make yourself at home,” he said softly, taking the coat from your shoulders.

Why couldn’t you just reel your arm back and slap him right across the face? Why couldn’t you just grab his shoulder and knee him in the gut?

Truth be told, you didn’t want to.

You downright couldn’t.

Was this the kind of hold he had on you?

You wriggled your arms from your coat then practically tossed yourself on the couch. No words could describe the bliss you felt when you rested your legs.

“Finally,” you whispered, leaning your head back.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“Just give me a second,” you replied, folding your arms behind your neck. “This is what I needed right here.”

Regardless of your answer, he was set on brewing some hot tea, especially nice for this weather. But, then he stopped to watch you, the serenity dousing your face, the slow rising and falling of your chest, the bruises and bandages covering patches of your skin, the deep purple beneath your left eye. He saw it immediately. He knew what happened to you.

In fact, he believed you were trapped in a plan he himself initiated. Did he intend it? No. But, nonetheless, he triggered it.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, a little spark burned and tingled his spine: a spark simply dubbed his conscience.

He retreated from the room to leave you to catch a few minutes of rest.

By the time you awoke, you were flat against the sofa, clutching a pillow to your chest. The room was dark, only illuminates by the lights of the city. The tiny flurries now grew into thick flakes covering the streets in white. Izaya sat next to you, eyes glazed with thought, quietly sipping a steaming cup of tea.

“How long was I asleep?” you slurred, hunching over and rubbing your face.

A clink on the table, a little shuffling, a click, and a sudden grab of your wrist, he lightly tugged you to his side. A small first aid kit rested on the glass surface.

“Izaya, what are you doing?” you demanded, half heartedly.

“What’s it look like?” he replied, tartly.

At once, causing you to yelp, he began ripping off the old bandages.

“H-hey-!”

“Hush,” he tossed them on a piece of tissue to be tossed in the bin. “These weren’t cleaned properly. Surely, you didn’t do this yourself,” he smirked.

And a heated blush rose to your cheeks. “Well...”

A simple chuckle in reply, and he dabbled some cotton in alcohol. Despite the intense stinging, you merely winced. You grew accustomed to pain of all kinds, and this was no different. Holding your chin carefully, he washed it over your jaw, your neck, your cheek, every little air with open sores or discolor. His brow winkled with concentration. He lips tightened, yet despite the tension, his touch was soft and delicate.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach. But, you attempted your best not to reveal this vulnerability. He had witnessed you in far more compromising situations, but you still retained your strength and dignity. You dared not show any kind of soft spot for him, lest it ruin the dynamic of your relationship.

But, that proved to be difficult, gazing into those pools of auburn.

Once satisfied with his work, he then covered the cleaned wounds with fresh gauze 

“There,” he muttered. “That’ll do ya much better.”

“Thanks,” you grumbled, shifting your eyes away.

“Now, put this cooling packet under your eye. It should reduce the swelling.”

Without giving you a chance to reply, he touched the plastic covered jelly beneath that sore region. The frigidness spread throughout your cheek, but the pulsating heat you ignored before slowly began to diminish. Brushing against his fingers, you held it in place. When you raised your head, you noticed the close proximity of his face. His half lidded eyes and parted lips softened his entire expression. His gaze rested on you.

You may have been dreaming. You may have temporarily lost your mind.

But, you could have sworn that he looked...apologetic?

Could it be possible?

“Izaya...?” your voice cracked as it strained to keep quiet.

Instead of replying with words, he bent toward to carefully brush his cold lips over yours.

So gentle. So light. Not at all what you were used to him doing in the past.

Heat drown you, and your heart skipped.

But, then, you sighed, breathed against his mouth, and with that one breath, the tension locked away inside you was released. Humming in approval, you dropped the packet altogether and knotted your fingers in his hair.

Perhaps, even if it was only for tonight, you could forgive him for all the things he’d done, all the things he’d said.

Tonight, he would be your refuge.


	6. Only A Little

[Izaya x Police!Reader]

[Izaya’s perspective]

This is wrong...

This is wrong, wrong, wrong. Think of every possible word in the English language for bad, and it applies to this.

Yet, I stand here at the street corner again, beneath the flickering lights, the people and noises around me turning into nothing more the noises and colorful blurs. In the midst of the mundane chaos, I see you there.

Clad in uniform, a gun at your waist, you survey the scene, eyes aflame. The dregs of the city dare not trifle with you. The distance enthralls me. Observing you from afar becomes a game of intrigue to me. I memorize the things you do; scratching your nose and fidget with your uniform, your lips curling into a sneer as you command the streets, your chest straining against your uniform as it rises and falls in deep breaths.

Something about you always entices me, draws me to you. Thoughts of slamming and pinning you to the nearest wall dominate the surface of my mind.

However, where’s the fun in making a scene here, when we can be in private and do more together?

Despite the webs I weave for you, despite the traps I lay out for you, you perceive my antics and elude them with the greatest of ease. It’s rather disgusting to be perfectly frank.

Nonetheless, I always have tricks up my sleeve to trump you. You hate me for it.

But, I know a dark part of you, a secret part of you hidden so long from the outside world, loves it.

And I love it too.

You are perfectly aware that I am wrong for you, that I’m worse for you then a night at a bar with every choice of alcohol in the world sitting before you. I stir trouble. I take pleasure in watching people struggle and suffer. My love for humanity resides in observing their reactions to distressing situations. You are so convinced a black hole resides in place of my heart.

Yet, you fall into my trap. You take the bait, and I lure you in.

Then, you indulge in this poisonous pleasure I give you. I kiss you so hard and long, until you whimper and gasp for breath. I bend and prod you to my liking just to watch you contort your face and gasp my name as you drown in this lust.

I am everything you detest, and that's what makes this such a thrill.

Because of my presence, you are forced to face that part of yourself you so don't want to admit exists: your your negligence, your greed, your sexual desires. You feel it. You struggle it. You acknowledge it, and yet each time you come back around; prepared to suffer under me.

Out of the plethora of humans I could choose to toy with, you are by far the most amusing.

But, as I watch you slumber at my side, our limbs entwined and fingers linked, I feel something stir inside me, something warm, fond. A part of me, a secret part of me hidden so long from the outside world, finds an attachment to you.

Only a little; it’s small, but the whispers remain.

My heart is black, and I enjoy watching the humans I love so strive and fight.

But, even I can grow attachments. Even I can feel something beyond the void inside me.

Even if it is only a little.


	7. Apocalypse

[Izaya x Pregnant!Police!Reader]

“Fuck me. Fuck him. Fuck everything. It’s the fucking end of the world.”

You curled up in the corner of the bathroom. You hoped that a shadow would come in and swallow you whole. You wanted the bathroom to flood and take you down. You hoped a storm would come and burn anything.

Your fists gripped the plastic, pink stick so hard, you were almost certain you’d break it.

Oh, how you wished it would and rid yourself of the dreaded positive sign you shamefully covered.

It was certain: you were pregnant.

You gazed at the little cafe, your meeting place with Izaya. As you watched innocent bystanders engage in their everyday conversation, giggling, laughing, flirting, envy bubbled in the pit of your stomach.

Oh, if only you could go back in time and injure yourself, tie yourself up, throw yourself in a dungeon, anything that would withhold you from following through with the stupid actions that lead you to this state.

You were a police officer. You were supposed to represent virtue. You were supposed to remain steadfast in your morals.

Yet, every single time you chased after the info broker, the infamous Izaya Orihara, the most despised yet sought after figure in Ikebukuro, you dropped everything you believed in and gave in to the primal desires he always managed to lure out of you.

Every. Single. Time.

You smacked yourself in the face.

Why. WHY? Why did you not possess the strength to tell that son of a bitch to fuck off or at least say no?

But, no. He was worse than any drug or alcohol in existence. Hell, he was worse than sugar or caffeine.

Just like any addiction, yours came with a price.

Straightening your spine and clearing your throat, you entered the cloud of aromas permeating about the room: warm bread, coffee, hot chocolate, fresh fruit, pastries. Normally, such delicious smells would leave your stomach growling with desire and want for a golden treat.

But, all you felt was nausea turning it over and over like an overdone burger at a fast food joint.

The fact that you managed to swallow the bile threatening to escape your throat as you spotted the dark haired genius himself, sipping his coffee with a sly grin on his face, was nothing short of a miracle.

“Well, well,” he said as you approached him. “If it isn’t my little, police girl.”

You clicked your tongue and slipped in the chair across from him. “Quit saying that in public, you ass.”

“What?” he cooed, circling patterns on the back of your hand. You were certain you could feel worms slithering up your arm as he did so. “You lead me to believe otherwise last week when-”

“Can we get to the fucking point of this meeting?” you hissed and jerked your hand away.

He shrugged. “Oh, alright then, fun sucker.”

“Now’s not the time to be dicking around, Izaya,” you glanced away. “I have something important to tell you.”

Gingerly folding his hands and resting his chin against them, he leaned in.

After gathering your thoughts together, you coughed and began,

“So, as you know, I’ve been getting sick a lot recently. Throwing up, getting dizzy, tired as hell, splitting headaches, you know, the works.”

“Let me guess: some life threatening illness?”

“No, I-”

“You’re dying?”

“Izaya, would you quit it? I’m trying to-”

“You’ve finally lost your mind?”

Damn, the urge to smack that stupid smile off his face surged through your arm.

“No, you bastard! I’m-”

The word literally caught in your throat. One second. Two seconds. Each second just made it all the more awkward. He raised an eyebrow, and his smile faded.

The word itself burned worse than any acid.

“P...Pregnant.”

Immediately, you looked away expecting the worst. What exactly was the worst though? With Izaya, one was never certain. Yelling? Cursing? Leaving? Laughing at you?

With a slow opening of your lids, you noted the widened, dark eyes, glazed and blank, brows raised. He looked completely frozen in time, unmoving, unblinking, not even a twitch.

Until, he muttered,

“Are...are you sure?”

You groaned and slapped your forehead. “What did you think was going to happen after unprotected sex all the time!”

“You sure it’s mine?”

“Izaya, I haven’t been sleeping with anyone else, you fucking asshole.”

After freezing a moment to let it all sink in, he returned to his previous state, utterly stunned.

You wanted to hide, but breathing in slowly, you continued,

“I know this is probably completely our of your comfort zone. In fact, it’d probably be the end of the world before you’d ever raise a child. But, I just thought it’d be the right thing to tell you.”

He remained still.

“I don’t have the resources to raise a child at the moment,” you continue, now pulling at your finger nails. “I was gonna find someone who might want to adopt him and-”

“Are you kidding me? We can’t give away a potential prodigy to some stranger!”

You blinked, and your thought train completely derailed.

“.....What.”

Izaya’s grin returned to his face, but a sparkle glimmered behind those dark eyes of his.

“Alright then,” he said promptly. “I’ll need a successor one day, anyways.”

Slowly but surely, your nerves began to ease away. But, was this really happening? You wanted to slap yourself, but that would look pretty damn stupid.

Instead, you pursed your lips.

“Izaya, I don’t think that’s what most people say then they find out they’re going to be a father.”

He leaned in uncomfortably close and took a lock of hair in between his fingers.

“I’m not most people,” he whispered with a wink.

An involuntary blush crept into your cheeks. After everything you had been through with him, that was still possible?

“So, you’re saying you...,” you cleared your throat. “You want to raise the kid with me?”

“But, of course!” he cheered and clasped your hand. “I love humans, and we’ll get to raise a tiny human together!”

You rolled your eyes, but you could not deny the joy bubbling in your throat.

“You make it sound like a damn science experiment,” you grumbled, trying not to smile.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he placed a quick kiss on your hand.

You finally took a few deep breaths, as you realized the world wasn’t about to end!

But, Izaya being so accepting of the idea of a child?

Surely, that in of itself was a sign of the apocalypse.


	8. Prodigy

[Daddy!Izaya x Mommy!Police!Reader]

Izaya Orihara was a father.

If that fact alone wasn’t a sign of the coming apocalypse, you didn’t know what was.

After nine months of no work at the station, aches, pains, and headaches, both literally and figuratively, you produced a gorgeous child with jet black hair and huge, hazel eyes. Despite being the child of an angry policewoman and Izaya Orihara of all people, the boy, whom Izaya promptly dubbed Akira, has always been a quiet child, crying only when he felt hungry or tired. All understandable you assumed.

As he aged, he revealed signs of a brilliant mind concealed behind that mess of black hair. He picked up words at a rapid rate, which meant you were required to watch your language. He began fiddling with puzzles and putting them together no later than a year and a half. With Izaya’s constant reading to him all his life, he followed in those footsteps, picking up his own books off choice, flipping through them with interest.

You hated to brag, but you were almost certain that he was a genius, a prodigy of some sort.

But, as the years quickened by, he spoke less and less, so by the time he was ready for kindergarten, he spoke only a few words.

In the middle of the year, he hardly spoke at all.

Izaya assumed Akira was nothing more than a quiet child, speaking only when he wanted. But, you, of course, concocted all the worst possible scenarios: had he been traumatized in some way? Was he being bullied? Was he sick? Did he possess some kind of mental or emotional problem that would require all sorts of medication and therapy?

Thoughts like these slowly dominated your ability to sleep.

So, it was time for you to sit down and discuss it with your husband.

Another day, another evening gone by, and as soon as Akira finished his meal, he slipped from his chair, quietly sauntering to his room. You watched carefully, his head sulked, his dark hair shielding his face. As soon as you perceived the door to his room click, you turned back to Izaya, who was scanning over a newspaper article.

“Izaya,” you started. “I’m really worried about Akira. He seems really down or anxious or something and he won’t say a word.”

His eyes shifted towards you, brows raised.

“I’m just afraid something’s wrong,” you ruffled the back of your hair. “But, every time I try to ask, he just shrugs it off. He obviously won’t tell me,” sucking in your bottom lip, you lowered your head. “Do you...do you think you could ask? Maybe get something out of him?”

Clearing his throat, he gingerly placed his paper on the table.

“I don’t see how I can do any better,” he stated plainly.

“Just try,” you reply curtly. “He’s your son too, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he scoffed. With a grunt, he rose from his seat and stretched his long, gangly limbs.

A crack of his neck, a brush of his clothes, and you knew immediately he was stalling on purpose. You pursed your lips and rapped your fingers against the table.

A yawn. A rub of his face. A long drawn out sigh.

Your fingers insisted.

But, he never moved.

“Izaya.”

No reply, except the slow removal of his jacket.

“Izaya!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Move your ass,” you hissed, taking the dirty dishes from the table.

With a low chuckle, he watched as you departed to the kitchen, observing your own ass sway to the beat in your head.

“Ah, some things never change,” Izaya chuckled before proceeding to the bedroom door of his son.

The lad was sitting at his computer in the dark, eyes practically peeled open, which looked rather terrifying in the dark. His fingers clacked away at his computer obviously hard at work.

Izaya cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. Then, he tapped his knuckle against the door frame.

“Knock, knock, Akira,” he said in a sing song voice.

His big eyes widened at the sudden intrusion, and his little hands fell to his side. With a little bounce in his step, he strolled over to the desk where he knelt at the boy’s side.

“Well then,” Izaya said, cocking his head. “Always so busy, just like Daddy.”

The boy sucked in his bottom lip and glanced away, just like his mommy.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Tell me something, Akira,” his stomach turned just a little. Damn, he sucked at this sort of thing. “How...how are you doing?”

His eyes glistened as he stared back at his father, face blank as a sheet.

For once in his life, his face softened just a hint as his hand encircled the little shoulder.

“I know I’m not the best at this,” he told him as delicately as possible. “But, you can always tell me anything. Is...Is something bothering you?”

Just as he expected, the boy remained quiet, lowering his eyes to the ground. There was no point in asking him again.

But, instead, he felt a tug at his jacket sleeve. Without speaking another word, the boy pointed at his computer screen.

“What’s this?” Izaya muttered. “Are you being bullied or something?”

He shook his head.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he knelt before the little desk, eyeing his son suspiciously as he twiddled his thumbs. A long document was opened, and so, he read:

“To the faculty at Raijin Academy,

It has come to my attention that your conduction of school activities and responsibilities is far from appropriate for such young children. My son returns home overwhelmed and exhausted from excess assignments. What kind of school is this! I refuse to cease my e-mailing until I see this altered immediately. If know anything about my current reputation, you know very well I will take action. Extreme or not, it will end up unpleasant for you.

I hope to hear from you soon.

Izaya Orihara”

The man simply blinked allowing this to sink in. Akira simply gazed into his palms.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Akira, how long have you been doing this?”

“Three months,” the boy finally whispered.

“And,” he crossed his arms. “have you noticed any changes?”

He shrugged. “Some.”

Suddenly, causing the boy to jump in his seat, Izaya burst into fits of laughter. Akira gawked at him with utter horror. He wasn’t about to be destroyed? Had his father completely lost his mind?

To prove the matter worsened, the man gathered his child in his arms, nuzzling his warm, little cheek.

Truth be told, he was absolutely terrified.

“I knew you were a prodigy!” he cheered. “A genius! You truly are my child!”

Upon hearing these words, his horror slowly melted away, and nothing but love and pride remained.

“You...you’re not angry?” he asked in his soft voice.

“Angry?” Izaya chuckled, ruffling Akira’s hair. “I was afraid something bad had happened to you, but all this time you were showing your true potential. I’m proud of you, son.”

With a little giggle at the contact, he latched his arms around his father’s shoulders.

“Thanks, Daddy,” he muffled into his shoulder as he was carried out of the confinements of his room.

And though Izaya never fully explained the conversation between himself and his son, you at least felt a breath of fresh air when you finally saw the lad opening up and conversing normally with you and his father.

It wasn’t until you started receiving angry letters from Akira’s school that you started getting suspicious...


	9. Puppet Master

[Yandere!Izaya x Police!Reader]

_~”End of passion play, crumbling away_

_~I’m your source of self-destruction...”_

A short breath, a bead of sweat glimmering beneath the light of the flickering lamp.

The seconds turn into minutes...hours even.

The silence thickens, allowing you to perceive the beating within your ears.

You feel him. You know he’s near.

But, you cannot see him, so how...

How did he manage to haunt you so?

How did he manage to clasp those nimble fingers about your neck,

when he is nowhere to be seen...?

_~”Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkest clear...”_

A low, thin laugh echoes within the narrow alley.

Nowhere else to go.

Your limbs stiffen, adrenaline rushing through them.

Your heart threatens to burst.

Your nerves set fire to every fiber of your being, alerting you to flee.

_~”Taste me you will see..._

_...More is all you need.”_

Burning...

Tingling...

Your head clouds. Your mind fogs. 

All the training in the world cannot save you now, 

from the shadow looming behind you.

_~”You’re dedicated to_

_How I’m killing you....”~_

_~”Come crawling faster....”~_

_~”....Obey your master...”~_

Strong, nimble fingers encircle your neck, more, more...

All reason subsides. You gasp for air. 

Crimson eyes flare. They burrow into your own.

A devilish smile peels across his lips.

He creeps in close, until he claims your breath with his mouth, a soul sucking kiss.

Tension dwindles away. You fall limp in his arms.

These burning sensations engulf your reason.

Unable are you to resist his terrifying yet enticing sway over you.

Too weak are you to fight against his power...

So, what point is there to fight back...?

_~”Your life burns faster...”~_

_~”.......Obey your master......”~_


	10. Fury

[Yandere!Shizuo x Reader]

_Run._

Amongst all the chaos of the city, the honking of taxis, the shouting of citizens, the arguing of couples or the everyday chit chat of friends and family, you hear only one thing. It echoes through your mind. It fuels your limbs with numbing adrenaline. It strangles your heart with fear.

_Run._

_Run now._

But, you are stuck behind a crowd of people as they wait for the traffic to subside, allowing them to cross.

The red light burns your retina, as if laughing at you, torturing you, knowing you are unable to move. 

How did no one notice? How did no one see his rage? 

Everyone knows of Shizuo Heiwajima’s fury. The violent shouts and curses, the destruction, how could one remain ignorant of this terror? He is a living, urban legend, so obviously real, yet so fantastical that his reality still remains in question in the far regions of Ikebukuro. 

You pull and tug at your hair, palms drenched in sweat, yet every part of skin riddled with goosebumps.

It started so simple, so quiet. It began as a simple visit in the bar, a few mellow conversations; small, but just enough to escalate into so much more, into exchange of hugs, kisses, touches. 

It was once everything you could have hoped for.

But, even you misjudged him. He seemed only to possess two settings; explosive and cool. 

You failed to notice the pestilence residing within.

With other companions you spent time with, other company you enjoyed so dearly, you not once saw the seed of jealousy growing within him.

You could kill yourself for not noticing sooner...

3...2...1...

And you could finally run once more. 

Pushing aside anyone nearing you, you run. You hold on your breath. You hope. Puzzled eyes watch you in your confused state, only for a moment, just to return to their own state of being. 

Rapid shuffle of footsteps...

Low heavy breathing...

Is it his or your own?

“People,” you breathe. “Find a place with people.

Your eyes dart about. Your heart pounds. Your diaphragm stretches and pulls as it strains to sustain the pressure of your intense, desperate breathing. 

A low, deep hum resonates behind you. A hand grips your shoulder, not enough to cause pain

Your limbs grow numb. Your heart stops, and for a moment, the vital act of breathing matters not.

A flash of gold, dark eyes, flashing behind shades, clothes of black and white...

You know that form better than the back of your own hand.

He found you...

“Babe,” his voice is strangely calm, a bit cold, yet smooth all the same. “I need to talk to you...”

You sense the fury boiling within him, but he refuses to burst as he is so known for. You can’t tell which is more terrifying - the exploding volcano,

or this ticking bomb, quiet, easily ignored,

and unpredictable as to when time would run out...

Either way, you possess neither the strength nor the courage to figure out which...


	11. Reminder

[Izaya x Police!Reader]

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Hey, you.”

“Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey.”

You groaned and flipped to the other side of the bed. Surely, the longer you kept your eyes closed, the less you would hear the noise. 

Something rapped your temple - violently, at that. A mouse? A bird’s beak?

Nope, but both were options you preferred. 

“Hey.’

“Police girl.”

“Don’t call me that,” you half growled into the pillow. 

“Tch.”

And just when you thought sleep take you down into its warm embrace once again...

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

“Guess what today is?”

“Izaya,” you hissed, pulling the covers as tightly as you could around your shoulders. “It’s three in the morning. Let me sleep.”

“It’s my birthday! Did you forget?”

With a sharp exhale, you hesitantly rolled to face him. Dark eyes gleamed a mischievous red. His breath warmed your reddened cheeks, and his lips, inches from your own, teased you with a devilish smirk. 

You hated him so much.

Or more,

you hated what he did to you.  
Brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead, you whispered,

“No, I didn’t forget.”

He leaned in, taking your upper lip between his teeth but pulling away before you could respond. 

“Hey-”

“Just making sure you didn’t forget,” he said, playfully tapping your nose. 

Then, he rolled back on his side. 

Before he could settled himself, you grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt, and pulled him back to you.

“You can’t wake me up at three for no reason,” you seethed, kissing the shell of his ear. 

With a shiver and a grin, he said in turn,

“I’m not opposed. Happy birthday to meeee!”

“Shut up, Izaya.”


End file.
